


just to sit outside your door

by shockvaluecola



Series: i slithered here from eden [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Consent Issues, Daddy Kink, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, FTM Quentin Coldwater, Gentle Dom Eliot Waugh, Halloween, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Quentin Coldwater's Canonical Oral Fixation, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shockvaluecola/pseuds/shockvaluecola
Summary: "Well, everyone saw Eliot dragging you upstairs," Julia said, but it wasn't the teasing tone of a friend hearing about a hookup. Her tone was careful, cautious. She knew what a minefield this was for Quentin. "How did that go?"Quentin sighed. "Fucking terrible, honestly," he said, turning and coming to sit on the bed next to her. "I freaked out when he started pulling at my binder. He had literally no idea what he was looking at."
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: i slithered here from eden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967311
Comments: 37
Kudos: 133





	just to sit outside your door

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! So, here it is. I've been working on this for awhile (although once I got the other stuff done it really came along terrifyingly fast), and I already know it's going to be a series. I have ideas for three more stories already, including at least one prequel. Probably they won't all be this long, but I haven't gotten very deep on them yet, so who knows. Thank you to Saoirse, Pavi, and redtoblack for beta help!
> 
> A note: all of the sex in this fic is fully consensual and negotiated, but there is some consent hinkiness around one encounter that doesn't go beyond kissing. I’ll put a description of it and where to stop and restart if you need to skip it in a note at the end, so skip to read those if you’re concerned.
> 
> Allow me to clarify some things right up front: I don't legit headcanon Quentin as transgender, we can just consider this an AU (in addition to the "no Beast" part). I am a member of the trans community, but I am not, strictly speaking, a binary trans man. I'm not exactly projecting my own journey and gender feelings onto Quentin -- he and I feel differently about some important things, including dysphoria centered on different body parts -- but this has definitely been an exercise in working through some of my own stuff, like, emotionally. I am kind of laying parts of my soul bare here. Relevantly, everything here is drawn either from my own experience, or from firsthand experiences I've read about or heard from friends, so I don't believe anything to be wildly, universally, factually inaccurate. 
> 
> To my fellow trans friends: Quentin's experience probably doesn't match yours perfectly. The trans experience is diverse! Almost no two trans people have the exact same journey, even those who share a label. Even Quentin's experience of being trans is going to change over the course of the series, because this is ultimately just a smutty coming-of-age story. I really, really hope he can make you feel seen at some point along the way. <3

Transfiguring syringes into pens was not, like, a typical Saturday afternoon, probably. But Quentin needed the practice, and Margo and Eliot had gone into New York so no one was harassing him to socialize, and he really needed to get rid of these before someone thought he was a heroin addict or something. He'd made Very Sure to bring all his supplies to Brakebills, asked if he could get a larger prescription because he was going away to school and everything, fought his doctors for a _week_ because testosterone was a controlled substance for some reason, and then he'd arrived and they'd given him that potion which tasted like 23 years of dysphoria in one bottle and then they'd told him he wouldn't need his T anymore.

So. Putting aside the money he'd spent on a several-month supply of hormones, he had like thirty needles to get rid of, because they always gave you more than you were expected to need, and he didn't just want to throw them away in a trash can where someone was going to see them and wonder what the fuck (not to mention that, even capped and clean, they were still fucking needles and therefore a hazard). Thus: pens.

The theory should be pretty simple. A syringe and a pen were fundamentally pretty similar -- a hollow plastic tube, metal on the end, meant to deliver a liquid to wherever the metal was pointing. Their natures were aligned in many ways and that should be a lot easier than turning a syringe into, like, a book. But Quentin was having a bitch of a time getting them to fill with ink.

He'd just thrown away the third empty pen and was toying with the idea of filling the next syringe with T first -- it wasn't like he needed it, and maybe a liquid already present would be easier to change into ink than summoning the ink from empty space -- when his doorknob rattled, and despite it being locked, Quentin quickly tossed his blanket over the pile of syringes on his bed and placed an open Fillory book on top of them, a carefully considered cover story. 

"Oh, Q," someone singsonged outside the door, drawing the letter out into several syllables -- _Kyoooo-hooooo!_ "What are you doing in there, young man? You just wait until your father gets home-"

Quentin pulled the door open with his best blank stare of Suffering. "Hi, Margo."

Margo gave him a winning smile. "Hi, Q. What are you up to- oh." She'd craned her neck over his shoulder, peering into the room, and spotted the Fillory book. Quentin felt a little frizzle of satisfaction that his cover story was working so well -- typical Q, reading a Fillory book in his room on a Saturday, no further questioning needed.

"I thought you and El were in the city," Quentin said.

Margo gave a disgusted eyeroll. "New York City is so fucking boring. Come on," she said, grabbing Q's arm and pulling him along. "Eliot's barbecuing and Mama's nails are not up for carrying this cooler outside."

Quentin let himself be shanghaied, stumbling a little behind Margo, but following her down the stairs. "What's he making?"

"We went to some Asian grocery store run by hedges, he grabbed a few things, I wasn't really paying attention. Alice is outside, though," Margo said, tone breezy.

It didn't have the effect she was probably hoping for as Quentin winced behind her back. Things with Alice had been weird since the trials. There'd been, like, _tension_ before, between them, the spark of something, but Quentin had had to hastily explain things and then he'd been taking his compression binder off at the same time as Alice took her bra off and he didn't think she like, _begrudged_ him, she didn't seem like she had a _problem_ with it, but she obviously hadn't been expecting it and seemed kind of freaked out and Quentin didn't...want to push, and also just didn't know what to do about it. He'd never been outed quite that way, and honestly it was kind of globally fucking unfair that the ropes hadn't just fallen off his wrists as soon as they were on, after what it had taken to get naked in front of Alice Quinn, but like, there it was, apparently his general self-hatred was stronger than dysphoria, so, that was nice, he guessed. 

Naturally, Mayakovsky had completely misread the weird tension and been about as shocked as anyone else in the room when he had turned the pair into foxes and seen that neither of them had a tiny little fox penis. He'd turned them back immediately and hadn't said another word to Quentin, and Quentin satisfied himself by viciously imagining that Mayakovsky was embarrassed, _humiliated_ at having missed such a clear and basic Circumstance. 

Probably he'd just been too drunk to remember, but the fantasy made Quentin feel better.

"You know levitation spells are a thing, right?" Quentin asked as he picked up the cooler, huffing a little.

"Maybe I just wanted to see you work for me," Margo posited with a terribly pleased little smile and a lift of her chin. Quentin rolled his eyes, but he could feel himself blushing as he followed Margo out the back door. She meant it in an objectifying way, but it was like, not unappealing to be objectified by Margo.

As promised, Alice was there. So were Eliot and Julia, and a Healing student Quentin didn't know, and for some reason, Todd. Quentin nodded to Alice, an awkward jerk of his head, and she nodded back before taking a long drink from a beer bottle. Quentin set the cooler down and went to sit in one of the little chairs.

Almost as soon as Quentin got there, the Healing student sniffed toward the grill, then made her excuses, saying something Quentin didn't really understand, but that seemed thick with invective for people who willingly ate meat. He glanced back in time to see Eliot sarcastically wave his spatula at her back.

"Luckily for you degenerates, I am never, _ever_ off meat," Eliot said, flipping a chicken breast.

Alice seemed to take this as her cue, standing up from the low wall she was sitting on and coming over toward Q, taking the other seat at the little table. "Hi," she said.

Quentin knew what it looked like to steel yourself against awkwardness and social anxiety, because he had practice. Seeing it on Alice kind of just made his stomach hurt. "Hi," he said.

"How are you?"

This was so weird and stilted. Quentin considered a spell that would make him sink through the ground, chair and all. "I'm okay. Pretty well recovered from South. How about you?"

"The same," she said, nodding, and took a swig from her beer.

He hated this. The way he'd felt making that gun-in-mouth 'kill me' gesture they'd shared at South, in the brief period where Quentin thought they might come through this okay, that was how she was making him feel now, and Quentin fucking hated it. "Okay, well," he said, giving her that awkward grimace not-a-smile of acknowledgement, and got up from his chair. He went over and took the spot she'd vacated, near Julia, who smiled at him.

"Everything okay?" she asked under her breath as Quentin sat. 

Quentin just shook his head a little, less as a 'no' and more as 'it's too complicated to get into right now.' Julia knew that Alice had been his secrets partner, so she understood the basics already. She also knew that this was the exact type of reaction from people who found out he was trans that Quentin Fucking Dreaded. She just gave him a small, sympathetic smile, and turned back to the gathering.

"So what are we all wearing to the party Friday?" Margo asked. She pointed to Quentin and Alice before anyone could answer. "You two nerds require approval. No excessively complicated cosplay shit, get something from Spirit Halloween like normal people."

"Halloween is on Monday," Alice pointed out.

"No one ever threw a half-decent party on a _Monday_ ," Eliot said derisively, sounding like he was gritting his teeth because he was holding a cigarette in his lips. Quentin was briefly distracted by it. Eliot would never do something so uncouth as that in front of guests, so Quentin could see and feel that he was relaxed, acting like he was just around family. It made Quentin feel a little warm and fuzzy as Eliot took a drag and lowered it. "Friday and Saturday before Halloween is the time-honored Halloween party date. Plus then if people have actual things to do on the night they can do it. You know at least half the Naturalists are gonna be up to their woo-woo shit," he said, exchanging an eyeroll with Margo as if he could imagine nothing more boorish.

"I mean, I'd rather they ran around their backyard naked than a lot of the things people have done for religion," Julia reasoned.

"It's not even religion, though, it's just whatever fantasy novel bullshit they thought sounded quirky this week. No offense, Q."

Quentin looked around with alarmed confusion like he might be talking to someone else, because _whomst_ , but Eliot was continuing. "Look, I don't disrespect alternative religions and whatever," he said in a conciliatory tone, gesticulating with a spatula in a way that made Quentin hope there wasn't any sauce or anything on it. "I'm sure some of them know what they're talking about. But there is absolutely a contingent of people who hide behind it as an excuse for multi-level marketing scams and taking drugs. Whereas I," he added, in an airy tone, "don't pretend I need an excuse to take drugs."

Todd, who Quentin had mostly forgotten about, asked an innocent question that started Eliot on another ramble. He was in a chattery mood today. Julia turned to Quentin and smiled at him again. "So what are you gonna be? Any ideas yet?"

"I don't know," Quentin said, scratching his arm. "I still have that, like, skeleton sweat set from sophomore year, I might wear that again if I can't think of anything. What about you?"

"I've got this little dress that's all, like, gauzy pieces and a set of fairy wings I'm enchanting to flutter. I might try to get a levitation charm on them so I can hover, too, if you have time to help me with it?"

"Sure, yeah, I think I can modify a gravity belt for that," Quentin said, and Alice caught his eye again. She was drinking her beer and watching him talk to Julia.

Quentin got up and got his own drink, mostly as an excuse to move, then sat on top of the cooler, facing Julia with his back to Alice. "I was thinking about Indiana Jones, too?" he said. "I'd just need to find a hat and a rope, I've got a shirt that would work and some brown pants. I'm sure someone's got that stuff aroun-" Quentin cut himself off in the middle of a sentence and twisted around toward Eliot, calling out toward him. "Was that never off meat thing a dick joke??"

"Oh my god," Eliot said, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"Keep _up_ , you wretched fucking dunce," Margo called back.

~

The party arrived in due course. Quentin had in fact found the hat and the rope, and while he lost the rope about twenty minutes after arriving at the party, he'd still gotten an approving nod from Margo, so he was feeling pretty good about it. Alice was around, in some kind of vaguely goth-looking dress and what appeared to be a splash of Margo's lipstick, simulating blood dripping from the corner of her mouth, but she'd managed to actually greet Quentin in a way that was mostly not awkward and then he hadn't really seen her again, so maybe she'd ducked out.

It was nice. It was all kind of nice. Well, mostly.

So like, obviously Eliot could hold his liquor, right? Obviously. He drank so much, he wasn't an amateur, that'd been obvious for as long as Quentin had lived in the Physical Kid house. It wasn't just the amount he drank, either, it was evident in his behavior. He got loose and happy and sometimes a little messy, not a lot, just enough to be endearing, but he never got _weird_ about it, right? 

The problem was, alcohol wasn't the only thing on offer. Josh was here, and he'd brought an impressive array of party favors, and Quentin wasn't tracking anything closely enough to know exactly what Eliot had taken except that it was several things. Quentin himself had just had some weed -- he liked weed, there were bad strains but Josh had handed him a joint that slowed his brain down just enough to be pleasant, and made his body feel heavy and comfortable. He just sat motionless on the couch for awhile, letting the buzz of the party go on around him, looking up at the ceiling and thinking about plants.

But Eliot seemed to be taking the holiday as an excuse to be a little messier than usual, because here he was, flopping down next to Quentin and looking at him in a way that made him kind of nervous. "Hi Q," he said, voice all low and purry. "Having fun?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "I'm pretty high."

"Mmm, that's good," Eliot said, reaching out and running a hand up Quentin's arm, making goosebumps rise in its wake.

"Um," Quentin said, suppressing a shiver. "Are you not making drinks?"

"Everyone's pretty lubricated, but I left pitchers at the bar for anybody in need. Honestly, Josh is kind of the star tonight. Do you want to come with me? I've got something to show you."

Quentin looked at Eliot. He wasn't a hundred percent sure what Eliot's costume was, there was some kind of robe that was left open to reveal a lot of chest hair, and his eyes were rimmed in black, which was rimmed in dark red, which was rimmed in gold. 

"Um. I'm comfortable."

"Oh." Eliot looked...sad? He was obviously trying to affect unbotheredness, but he looked away. "That's cool."

Damn it, no, he needed Eliot to stop looking like that. "Um, but if you help me up, sure. What do you want to show me?"

Eliot lit up with a smile and surged up off the couch without answering, grabbing Q's hands to pull him up. Keeping hold of his hand in a way that was distracting but pretty normal for Eliot, he pulled Quentin through the room and up the stairs. Being a little high, it didn't really occur to him to wonder what they were doing or why they were going so far until they were ascending the stairs to Eliot's attic room.

"Um, what's the- um." Quentin found himself pressed up against Eliot's closed door, with Eliot very...very...close.

"I cannot believe you didn't notice such an obvious line," Eliot said, grinning as he pressed his body up against Q's, pinning him to the door. "Mmm, but I'm glad you came anyway."

"Oh." Oh fuck. Oh fuck okay this was...

Quentin strained his brain, trying to think if he'd ever seen Eliot with a woman. Was there a possibility he was bisexual? Part of his brain yelled that it shouldn't matter, he was a man no matter what, and the rest yelled back that it _did_ matter regardless, and that letting Eliot find out for himself could be seriously unsafe. It wasn't that a bisexual was necessarily going to be more accepting of his transness, but they were at least unlikely to show any more than disappointment and garden-variety transphobia. Quentin didn't see Eliot as the type to really get angry or violent when he discovered genitals other than the ones he expected, but how many men and women before him had believed that and then...

Quentin didn't get a chance to think it through any further, because Eliot was kissing him. Quentin couldn't help leaning into it and kissing back, because yeah, like, _obviously_ , who the fuck _didn't_ want Eliot, if someone on this whole campus wasn't at least kind of thirsty for the undisputed king of the Physical Kids, Quentin didn't know them. So yeah, he kissed back and he was probably getting Eliot's makeup on his face and he could feel Eliot getting hard against him, _fuck_ , what the _fuck_ was going on, he had to be _huge_ , he was poking up past Quentin's bully button--

Eliot pulled away from the kiss with a giggle. "Who the fuck wears an undershirt for Indiana Jones, Coldwater?" he asked, voice all full of happy, naughty delight as he pulled at the hem of Quentin's binder. 

With a shock like falling into a freezing lake, all of Quentin's arousal was gone. His mouth went dry, and his stomach clenched. He'd worn a long one tonight so it wasn't obviously bra-like, it felt and looked like a tank top, but the effect was going to be the same if it came off. "Um, Eliot, I have to tell you-"

"I mean, for god's sake, show some _chest hair_ ," Eliot was continuing, having no idea what was wrong. "Why's it so tight?"

"Eliot, stop, I need to-"

"Come on, baby boy, lift your arms up-"

Eliot had his fingers hooked solidly under the bottom of his binder now, and Quentin's breath hitched with panic. "Eliot, _stop!_ " he shouted, and shoved hard.

The room was smallish, so Eliot's ass hit the edge of the bed, where he slid to the floor unharmed. He looked as stunned as Quentin suddenly felt.

"Oh my god," he said, quickly hitting his knees next to Eliot. "Are you okay? Fuck, I didn't mean-"

"I'm okay," Eliot said softly. "I'm sorry, I don't know what... _Quentin_ , god, don't apologize, I should have listened when you-"

Quentin was kissing him again before he could think about it, wanting to silence whatever thoughts and feelings Eliot was having. Eliot was turning toward him, though, a hand reaching for him, and Quentin jerked back, knocking himself on his ass this time.

"I have to tell you, I have to, I don't, um." Quentin was out of breath and he ran a hand over his hair, which was falling out of the bun. Where did his hat go? Had he had it downstairs? He was too high to keep track. "I don't have what you're, like, _looking for_ , okay?"

Eliot frowned in confusion, his beautiful eyes made absolutely arresting by the smudged makeup. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not...I don't...I have a taco, not a hot dog," Quentin said finally, making himself look away. "I was born with a chronic lack of small gametes. You were trying to take off my fucking binder. I don't..." God, why was he such a fucking disaster and couldn't just actually say the fucking words? "There's no meat for you to be on!" he exclaimed, gesticulating in his frustration. "This here is a...fucking, a pescatarian restaurant!"

From the corner of his eye, Quentin saw realization dawning on Eliot's face. "You're trans?"

"Yes, I'm fucking trans," Quentin said, still not looking at him. His hackles were up, feeling like an animal that was being offered food, but still deciding whether to take it or run.

"Baby," Eliot said softly, and Quentin glanced up enough to see Eliot moving, getting on his hands and knees to crawl toward Quentin. "Baby, it's okay, I'm not-" He was cut off with a grunt as his hand hit the edge of the rug and slipped, and Quentin scrambled up to his feet.

"Yeah, um, even if I believed you, which like, questionable, I'm pretty sure, like...nothing could possibly be less sexy than this conversation we're having, but, um, thanks for getting so fucked up you can't see straight and ruining my night, I guess."

Even as Quentin opened the door and started down the stairs, he winced. That had been unnecessarily mean, Eliot hadn't meant anything by it. Quentin was just...rattled, and annoyed, and upset, and dealing with the lingering edges of panic. Surely Eliot was never going to speak to him again and also the whole campus was going to find out and Quentin was going to have to drop out and become a hedge witch because it would surely, surely be better than the stares.

He scurried through the house and found his own room, slamming and locking the door, sparing only the time to kick off his Indiana Jones boots before burying himself under the covers. He'd get up and get his binder off...soon, later, he knew he wasn't supposed to sleep in it, but his head felt heavy and the blankets were pleasantly cool and he desperately just wanted this shitty night to be over.

~

Quentin was woken once or twice in the evening by people pounding on his door, but he just rolled over, and eventually they went away. Sometime in the night -- maybe three in the morning, judging by the sounds of people leaving -- he half-woke enough to wrestle his binder off and lay back down, happy to be breathing easier.

He hadn't drank a lot, so he felt okay when he woke up, physically. Maybe a little dehydrated, he hadn't been drinking much water, but that was easily fixed. He flopped over onto his back to look at the ceiling and sighed, thoughts wandering to Eliot.

Should he try to talk to him this morning? Eliot probably wouldn't actually out him, right? What Quentin feared while fighting off a panic attack did not necessarily have a strong relationship with reality. He'd also claimed not to be bothered by Quentin's transness, although in the clear light of day, Quentin could articulate to himself that that wasn't the point. _Quentin_ was bothered by Quentin's transness, and he didn't want to risk the weeks of dysphoria and suicidal thoughts that might result from letting someone touch him who didn't understand, who hadn't asked the right questions and received the right education.

Fuck, though. Eliot was definitely just as good a kisser as Quentin had thought he would be. Quentin remembered how it had felt to have that lean body pressed against his, feeling Eliot's cock hardening quickly against him. He imagined a different ending to the evening, getting on his knees and seeing just how big it was firsthand, Eliot putting Q's legs up over his shoulders and licking, sucking...

Quentin shivered. He could feel his pulse between his legs already. Licking his lips, he unbuttoned and unzipped the stupid brown pants he was still wearing and slid a hand into his boxers. He spread his legs a little, and found himself already halfway to hard. He imagined Eliot's voice in his ear, all low and seductive. _I'm gonna fuck you now._

He swore softly and fumbled toward his night stand for the lube, in a discreet little pump bottle that just looked like lotion. He squeezed some onto his fingers and cupped his hand over them, so he didn't smear it everywhere, then pushed his hand back down his pants. He sighed toward the ceiling as he hitched his hips up and rubbed his slick fingers around his asshole, imagining they were Eliot's. He pushed one in, just a tease, then slid back up to rub himself between two fingers where he'd grown hard and wanting.

 _You love taking Daddy's cock, don't you?_ Quentin had no idea if Eliot would try the Daddy thing during sex, but it made him shiver, and he pushed two fingers into himself this time. He thought about going and grabbing a dildo, but stopping didn't seem worth it. His palm was still rubbing where he needed it, the hard flesh poking into the center of his hand, making him shudder at the friction. His heels dug into the bed as he panted, angling his arm and pushing his fingers in up to the knuckle. He imagined Eliot above him, Quentin's ankles on his shoulders, the face he'd make as he guided a massive cock inside...

Quentin bit down on a moan as he came, deep and satisfying, hips rolling up into his hand. The tension seemed to release all at once and he fell back to the bed, panting, fingers still inside his ass. He gave the softening flesh a couple more rubs to make himself shiver, then drew his hand away, trying not to touch anything with it as he peered around for tissues. He was already bad at changing his sheets, he might as well not go smearing lube on them if he didn't have to.

There were no tissues immediately obvious, so he headed into the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, he looked way worse than he felt, which intuitively seemed wrong, but upon further reflection felt like it was probably pretty standard for a Halloween party. As suspected, Eliot's makeup was smeared on his nose and one of his cheeks. On autopilot, Quentin's eyes dropped to his chest, bare and hairy, and he winced a little.

"This is all your fault," he informed his breasts, and rinsed his hand off.

He looked and felt a lot better after a shower and shave. He picked out a more comfortable binder, one that was short and closed with hooks at the side, a little more forgiving than the pull-on kind. He almost felt normal now as he tried to pick a t-shirt, interrupted by a knock on his door.

"Who is it?" he asked, a little tense.

"High Queen Jane Chatwin, the Pure," came Julia's voice, affecting a British accent. Quentin smiled a little and went to open the door for her, staying behind it so no one passing by in the hallway would see him shirtless.

"So how'd last night go?" she asked as she swept in and sat on the edge of Quentin's still-unmade bed. Her eyes never even flicked down to the binder, as used to it as anything else about Quentin, and it was nice to feel normal. "Have fun at the party?" Julia didn't look like she'd been home, although naturally her makeup was just sexily smudged around instead of a horror show, and like, god, fuck her for doing that so easily, being so effortlessly hot that she could wake up like this, hair tousled instead of ratty and makeup sexy instead of gross. She still had her wings on, too, bent and ragged, and even that was just, like, stupidly charming.

"Um, I did, yeah. Josh had really good weed," Quentin said, going back over to his dresser. He grabbed a t-shirt at random and pulled it on, his still-damp hair immediately soaking water into the upper back. "I know it's not, like, the super social time most people like to have at parties, but I just sat on the couch and chilled out for awhile, it was nice," he said, his back to Julia as he messed with something on his desk.

"Well, everyone saw Eliot dragging you upstairs," she said, but it wasn't the teasing tone of a friend hearing about a hookup. Her tone was careful, cautious. She knew what a minefield this was for Quentin. "How did that go?"

Quentin sighed. "Fucking terrible, honestly," he said, turning and coming to sit on the bed next to her. "I freaked out when he started pulling at the binder and pushed him, like, really hard. He was okay, or he said he was, I didn't stay and find out. I, uh, kissed him again on the floor? And told him why I freaked out, and once he got it I basically fled here and went directly to bed." He made a little ta-da hand motion. "Observe my being a total freakshow."

Julia grimaced. "Okay, well, not great, but honestly? Could have been worse. He could have hit his head and had to go to the ER," she pointed out. "He could have not stopped when you pushed him, or gotten mad, which it sounds like he didn't. He could still be sitting up there wondering what the fuck happened, instead of you telling him."

"I guess so," Quentin said, pulling his legs up to fold them criss-cross, knees up toward his chest. "He was, like, really fucked up. I don't know what he took, but he must have mixed a lot of things. I was telling him to stop and I don't know if he even heard me."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "Jesus, Q!"

"It wasn't like that," he rushed to add, making an abortive motion with his hands. "I mean, not...he apologized for it as soon as he got the message," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, if anything, like, anyone he was, you know, _accosting_ should probably have pushed him off because I don't know if he could have, like, meaningfully consented like that."

Julia snorted. "You say that like you think he just went for any random guy in the room."

Quentin raised his eyebrows, startled and confused. "Didn't he?"

"Oh my god, are you kidding? I'm like, eighty percent sure he only got that fucked up because he needed the courage to make a pass at you."

"Okay, first of all, make a pass? What era are you from?"

"I'm sorry, who asked me last week if Penny was 'sweating me'?"

"And second of all," he continued, ignoring her, "I am easily the least socially intimidating person who lives in this house. Even Alice has this whole, scary competent, I can fuck you up if you cross me thing going on. There's no fucking way _Eliot Waugh_ , the literal, like, cock of the walk-" Julia started laughing at him "-needed to get _that_ blitzed just to kiss me."

"Uh, unless he _likes_ you, dummy," Julia said, in a tone that suggested this was obvious. "Q, come on, do you think he actually has feelings for every boy who sees his dick? Obviously not, right? So what do you think happens when he _does_ catch feelings?"

Quentin looked out the window, too far from it to see anything but the sky, as he processed this. He guessed it did make a kind of basic sense. When you caught feelings, most of the time they made you act different, right? When he'd gotten that weird crush on Julia she'd definitely noticed and pulled away, because try as he might he couldn't be himself anymore. When he'd gotten over it, they'd been able to fix things.

"But like... _why_ , though?" Quentin asked, squinting at Julia. "Why would he have a crush on me, or whatever, of all people?"

Julia shrugged. "Why does anyone like anyone? He was definitely asking about you, though. I mean, indirectly. He kept dropping comments on you being straight, when I was around and you weren't, until I told him you were bisexual. Then he did that whole..." Julia lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes, in a kind of uncanny impression of Eliot. " _Interesting._ Thing."

Quentin scratched his arm. "That does sound like interest," he admitted.

" _Obviously._ He's downstairs making people breakfast. I don't know if it's too soon to talk to him about it, but at least go, like, show yourself? See that he doesn't hate you, let him see that you don't hate him?"

"Yeah. I guess. I am pretty hungry."

Julia nodded firmly. "Good." She got up from the bed. "I'm gonna use your shower and steal a t-shirt, okay? I definitely did not intend to sleep over here," she said with a little laugh.

Quentin peered her over with a speculative look. "Who dragged _you_ off last night?" He hadn't been thinking about it, but she'd probably hooked up with someone, right?

She just gave an impish grin and lift of the shoulders, eyes pointed skyward, and bounced into the bathroom. Quentin laughed and shook his head. "Keep your secrets, Gandalf," he called after her. "I'll put a towel and some shorts on the toilet."

He did, finding the old drawstring pair that didn't really fit him, but that Julia could cinch comfortably, then headed downstairs, peering toward the kitchen cautiously. He considered grabbing a book from a shelf and just bolting, but he really was hungry, and he could smell coffee and bacon. He took a breath, figuring that the whole dropping out and becoming a hedge witch scenario was still open to him, and headed for the kitchen.

Eliot had wiped off his makeup, but he hadn't shaved, and Quentin wasn't sure if he'd showered. He'd taken off his costume, whatever it was, and put on a long, embroidered silk robe, belted shut tight so Quentin couldn't tell if he was wearing anything under it. There were still faded smears around his eyes like the makeup had stained his skin, and he looked pretty haggard, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he busily sliced apart a tray bake of egg sandwiches. As Quentin watched, ash fell off the end and landed on one.

"Shit," Eliot swore, trying to brush it off without scattering it onto any more of the food.

"That's definitely the one I want," Quentin said, before he could stop himself, and smiled a little at Eliot, who jerked like someone had burned him and looked up sharply.

"Quentin," he said, then took the cigarette out of his mouth. He visibly composed himself, schooling his expression cool and calm. "Good morning."

"Morning," Quentin said, going over to the coffee pot.

Eliot didn't say anything as Quentin poured a cup and doctored it to his liking. He sipped it as he turned back around, approaching the kitchen table with caution. Todd stumbled in before he got there, looking like he'd been in a war zone. Eliot silently handed him the sandwich that had been ashed on. Quentin hid his grin behind his mug as Todd mumbled something and stumbled back out.

Eliot stubbed out his cigarette, then picked up another sandwich and extended it to Quentin. "Um, can I take one for Julia, too?" Quentin asked. Eliot picked up another and set it on top of the one Quentin was already holding, balancing them precisely.

"I'm sorry," Eliot said suddenly. His voice was strong and firm, a little too much so. He was obviously concealing something, some emotion. Quentin could hazard some guesses what it was. "Last night was...you were right to push me off, if I was too fucked up to listen to you I was absolutely too fucked up to...well, anyway."

He turned away from Quentin, picking up his cigarettes from the counter. Quentin could see his hands shaking as he tried to get one out.

Quentin set down his breakfast and came around the table. He reached out and stilled Eliot's fumbling hands, fingers wrapping over his. He could feel Eliot looking at him as he gently took the pack of cigarettes away and got one out for him, setting the pack back down in its place.

Finally, he looked up at Eliot, holding the cigarette out to him. "It's okay," he said simply.

The look on Eliot's face was like that had hurt, but he gave a jerky nod and took the cigarette, turning away again as he did the tut to light it. Quentin picked up his breakfast and headed back upstairs, hoping desperately that whatever had broken between them was fixable.

~

For the remainder of the weekend, Quentin kind of despaired. Fixing it seemed entirely out of reach, especially with so much...distance between them. Like physically, as well as emotionally. Eliot was around, he was in the house, but he was doing the absolute best job of avoidance it was possible to do when you shared a house of this size. Quentin didn't get more than a snatch of his voice or a glimpse of him turning the corner until Monday when he came back from class to study through lunch. Eliot was in the living room, and he actually nodded to Quentin as he headed up the stairs, though he still didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say or how to deal with this, any of this, he'd never been in this situation before, and long experience told him that just going with his gut when he didn't know what to do in a social situation was usually the Wrong Fucking Answer.

By some miracle, Eliot was there again when Quentin got back from his last class. He was on the couch in the front room, a book in his lap and a cigarette in his hand, positively dressed down in rolled-up sleeves and a brown waistcoat that hung open. "Hey," Eliot said, actually lifting his head toward Quentin like a blessing from the angels. "Everyone's out to do Halloween stuff. Do you have a minute to talk?"

Thank _god_. Quentin nodded, nearly tripping over himself in his eagerness to drop his bag by the steps and come over to the couch. Eliot set aside the book and stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table. A quick tut cleared the smell of smoke as Quentin sat down, bringing his knees up and crossing his ankles.

"I wanted to...apologize properly for the other night," Eliot said, back stiff and tone a little too formal. "Please don't apologize for pushing me. The fact that you had to do that was...inexcusable, on my part," Eliot said, shaking his head. "I should never have put you in that position. I know better. I intend to take a break from anything harder than weed, for at least a little while. Until I can be sure that I'm...safe to be around in that state. I'm sorry."

Quentin nodded, trying to hear this for what it was. "Okay. Thank you. I..." Eliot didn't want to hear an apology back, and when he considered it, Quentin didn't really feel like he needed to give one. What he needed was to _fix things_ , to at least get their friendship back, if not...the other thing. 

Eliot waited patiently for him to either finish the sentence or give up on it. Quentin appreciated the grace, and tried again. "I would appreciate it if next time you want to kiss me, you just...ask."

Quentin's eyes were drawn to Eliot's Adam's apple as it bobbed with a swallow. "Next time?" he asked, tentative.

A deep breath, and Quentin nodded. "I do, um. Want to kiss you. If that's. Still something you want. If you still want..." He made a vague gesture that didn't mean anything.

Eliot visibly relaxed, and nodded. "I do. I do want that." He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together and putting his elbows on his knees. "I'm just new to...um, bodies like yours, I guess?" He winced. "Not that I know, I mean, I know everyone isn't...I mean, are you..." Eliot trailed off. "I'll just say it, I don't really know how to touch you and I don't even know how to ask." 

Quentin studied him, not sure if he'd ever seen such an open and honest expression on Eliot's face. He tried to decide if it could possibly be fake, if Eliot might just be that good of a liar. He wasn't sure if it was possible to fake that expression. If anyone could, it would probably be Eliot. That was the kind of luck Q had.

"So," Eliot continued. "This is me asking. If you don't..." He looked uncomfortable for a moment and looked down, picking at the edge of one of his nails. "If me not knowing a lot about this is a dealbreaker for you, that's fine, I can live with that, it's just really important to me to be good to you if I am gonna touch you but if I'm not then you can tell me to fuck off and never speak to me again and that's fine, I'm sure I deserve it..."

Quentin realized in a flash that Eliot thought _he_ was being rejected, that he thought he wasn't good enough for being, Quentin didn't even know, insufficiently woke about it, and before Quentin had even decided to move he was sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning forward to put his hand over Eliot's, stilling the anxious movement.

Eliot looked up at him with so much nervousness and hope that Quentin forgot every single doubt he'd had. "It's okay," Quentin said. "You don't have to know everything. I mean...most guys like me, we're all different, anyway? So it would be good to talk about it in any case, because whatever guy you would have learned from would probably feel differently about it than me, and..." He trailed off with a shrug. "Um, and, I think you basically asked in the best way. How can I touch you, how are you...okay with being touched, is, um. Good."

"Okay," Eliot said, voice soft, and nodded. He reached up, dragging his fingers over Quentin's scratchy jaw to cup the side of his neck. Quentin leaned into it with a shiver, eyes closing. "How can I touch you, baby boy?"

"Um. Avoid my chest," Quentin said, turning to kiss Eliot's hand, then making himself look up. Eliot was smiling a little at him. "I might keep my binder on, at least...for awhile."

Eliot nodded, looking serious again. "Any plans to...not need that in the future? Is that okay to ask?"

"Um." _Was_ that even okay to ask? He looked into the middle distance, trying to decide. "It doesn't bother me, but maybe don't...take that as permission to ask anyone else. Probably some people would find that invasive. Um, I do want that? But, like, I've been on my parents' insurance and they'll cover hormones but not surgery, s-so, um, it hasn't been like, realistic. The plan was, um, well, it doesn't really matter but there was a plan and then Brakebills happened, so there's...no plan anymore, I'm just trying to get my footing."

Eliot nodded. "Okay, that makes sense. So binder on, no chest touch. Does that mean just no grabbing, or...?"

"Like...as opposed to what?" Quentin asked.

"Like, if we kiss should I try not to get too close? Can I have an arm around you?"

He was thinking about this really hard to make sure he didn't do anything Quentin didn't like, and it was...charming? Sweet. "Kissing should be okay. I think it might depend on how exactly your arm was, so maybe just be receptive to me moving you?"

Eliot smiled, and Quentin didn't know why this time. "Why don't I demonstrate what I mean?"

It made Quentin's stomach flutter nervously, but he nodded. "Okay."

"Turn your back to me?"

Quentin did, and he could hear Eliot shifting forward. One long arm came up under his left armpit, and Eliot's arm crossed over his chest, hand landing on the opposite shoulder. "Is this okay?" he asked, voice soft, and jesus, Quentin could _feel his fucking breath_ on his neck, on his ear, and it was, it would be so easy to--

"Um, this is. Okay, yeah. This is nice," Quentin said.

"Good," Eliot murmured, and he leaned back, urging Quentin to rest back against him. Quentin felt like a goddamn puppet with his strings cut, laying back on Eliot in a boneless heap. God, the warmth of him, the heartbeat against his back, even apart from all that just being _touched_ , he hugged Julia when he could but Quentin was so fucking touch-starved he was pretty sure he might just cry being held like this, it was--

"All good?" Eliot asked, gentle, and Quentin realized he'd tensed up a little.

"Sorry, it's just, um..." He reached up and rubbed a hand over his face. _It feels really nice to be held and that's why I'm about to start crying?_ He forced himself to take a deep breath. "It's just, um, been awhile."

Eliot gave him a squeeze, and Quentin felt his heart squeeze in time. "We can stay here as long as you want, baby boy. Or we can go do this in a bed, be comfortable. Clothes on until you're ready," he added. "No funny business."

The phrasing made Quentin stutter out a chuckle, more of a scoff. "Maybe in a bit. Definitely if anyone comes."

"That does raise another question. I assume Alice and Julia know?" Quentin nodded. "Anyone else?"

Quentin looked down and shook his head. "Just Fogg and Lipson, right now. I mean, maybe some other professors, but no one's like, said anything. Fogg just sent me to Lipson when I got here and she gave me this potion so I wouldn't need T anymore. Um, I guess Penny might know, but if he noticed anything he didn't comment on it. He wasn't there very often while we were rooming, he was always with Kady, so it was easy to like, conceal anything that might give me away."

"Okay," Eliot said slowly. "You...should probably know that I'm in the habit of talking about sex with Margo. I'm not saying I can't handle her, but you should also know that if I'm clammed up about what I do with you, she's going to know something's up, and she probably won't stop trying to figure out what it is until she does. She would never out you to anyone else," he assured, and Quentin could feel him shaking his head without having to look. "But realistically, telling her to back down would just make her more curious. I think we should probably talk about that before it becomes a problem."

Quentin nodded. "Okay, um, then maybe it's best if you just...tell her? I mean, it's not necessarily ideal," he admitted. "But it's not like I'm ashamed. I just...hate it when people start to treat me differently. But, um, I'm pretty sure my identity as 'worthless cock' is pretty well cemented in her mind," he said with a little laugh, like maybe...65% joking.

"Probably," Eliot agreed with a chuckle. "I'll impress upon her the importance of keeping her mouth shut. Now, I think you were telling me how I can touch you?"

"Oh, right," Quentin said. He gave himself a second to just let out a sigh, relaxing fully into Eliot's secure hold, allowing it to make him feel safe to bare his soul. "You should know that I have had enough sex with both guys and girls to know what does and doesn't work, so, um, you can always ask me? And it's not like I'm guessing or taking shots in the dark, either, like, there's some variation, it's impossible to know how you specifically will make me feel about some things until we're in it, and some things will change as I get comfortable with you and we figure out what we're good at, but, um..." Q realized he was rambling. Apparently being held was loosening the fuck out of his tongue.

"Okay," Eliot said, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. "Good to know. I did wonder a little," he admitted. "You never did seem like the cutting a swath type."

"Um, no, more like the, serial monogamy type," Quentin said.

"Makes sense. I feel like, in the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that I'm aware you've only really seen me with cis guys, but I'm not bothered by..." 

Quentin waited to see if he'd come up with something on his own. "Internal plumbing?" he supplied.

"Yes," Eliot agreed. "I've, you know, investigated things with a few cis girls. The girl of it all wasn't especially a turn-on, but the parts themselves weren't unpleasant." His tone was breezy, like he could be talking about an okay drink he'd had on a beach somewhere, but Quentin thought he could read some tension and nervousness behind it.

It took him a second to parse this: girls didn't turn him on, but the parts themselves -- _oh_. Right. He was saying that the parts he assumed Quentin had didn't bother him, he wasn't like some gay men who would recoil from it and call it disgusting. He was trying to express that he'd fuck the front hole without knowing what to call it, and it struck Quentin again how hard Eliot was trying, how careful he was being not to say anything that might harm Quentin. How invested he was in making sure Quentin felt safe.

As little as he wanted to pull away from Eliot, he was struggling too hard to reconcile this, and he sat up and turned. Quentin planted one hand on the back of the couch for support as he looked Eliot in the face with a frown, Eliot looking back at him with gentle curiosity.

"You _are_ a cutting-a-swath type," Quentin pointed out. "Is that all this is? I'm fine with it, if so," he said, only lying a little bit. "Like if you're just trying to have some fun for a night, or a week, or whatever, I'm okay with that, but I feel like I need to know so I know what's worth investing time in and what isn't."

"I..." Quentin watched the face journey go from shocked, to an attempt at nonchalance, to something less readable, but softer. "You're right, I am a...temporary kind of boy." He bit his lip, looking down for a moment. "I guess I'm not really sure what I want. I just...want you?" He looked up at Quentin again and shrugged, and _sheepish_ was not a look he'd ever expected on Eliot Waugh, but it suited him. "I guess the answer is you can treat me however you need to treat me for now, if assuming I'll be gone in a week is the safest thing for you. I don't want to make promises I'm not sure I can keep."

"But you don't want just a week with me," Quentin pressed. The safest thing for him would be to _know_. "You want more."

"I've wanted more before and it hasn't worked out," Eliot said, not looking at him again, and he looked so sad that Quentin just wanted to...roll him into a ball and put him in his pocket, where nothing bad could happen to him.

Instead, he just shrugged. "I'm not those guys before." A little shocked at his own smoothness and not wanting to fuck it up, he turned and settled back against Eliot's chest once more, happy when that arm came back down over him. "So. The front hole. Um, that's the best word to use for it, or just like, the front."

"Is that the word you use?"

"Um." Quentin could feel himself blushing. "Not really."

"What do you call it, then? I want to use whatever you're most comfortable with. Or should I not be asking that?"

"Um. No, it's...it's fine to ask. It's just, uh, embarrassing."

"Oh?" He could goddamn hear Eliot's grin.

Quentin heaved a sigh. "Okay, _look_ , me and Julia came up with it when we were like, fifteen, okay, so you can't judge me. It's my...egg pocket."

Eliot was silent, but Quentin could fucking feel his chest tensing up as he tried not to laugh. "Fuck you," Quentin said.

Eliot gave it up, wheezing out a laugh and squeezing Quentin tighter. "I'm sorry, _egg pocket_? Like, what the _fuck_ , Quentin?"

"We were fifteen!" he repeated, indignant. "I couldn't handle the anatomical terms for it anymore, and no one had told me about 'front hole' yet, so we came up with that. That post was going around on tumblr talking about someone's lady pocket region, and it wasn't a lady for obvious reasons, so we decided egg was like, a neutral, factual option, since it _does_ have eggs in it. Presumably." Quentin tried to think if he'd heard of anything about the effects of testosterone on egg production. "I mean, it did at the time, but, the, uh, egg parts haven't been, um, active in like, five years, so who knows at this point."

"You're saying you don't bleed anymore," Eliot said, and Quentin nodded. "Okay, good to know that I probably can't get you pregnant, then."

"Well...it's really not bulletproof," Quentin said. "I'm supposed to use contraception and pee on a stick every month anyway if I start having sex that can cause that, just cause like, I'm _probably_ infertile at this point? But it's definitely theoretically possible that my body could randomly decide now's the time to ovulate again. But like, it's. Not like I'd be the first man who needed that taken care of, so."

"Well, there are contraceptive charms we'll do anyway. You had that magic sex ed class from Fogg, right? Those things are totally idiot-proof, I promise. No peeing on sticks," Eliot said, and kissed the top of his head. It made Quentin feel warm inside. "So you do have that kind of sex?"

"Um..." Quentin winced a little. "That's one of those things that we're gonna...have to see about?"

"Okay, no problem," Eliot said easily. "Front hole sex off the table for now. You can still talk about it as a future thing, if you want, or we can discuss it when and if we're considering doing it."

Quentin exhaled. "I mean...I'd kind of like to just get all the basics out there at once, while we're doing this?"

"Of course. Then I'm listening."

"Okay." Deep breath. "Um, sometimes front hole sex is really uncomfortable, mentally. Sometimes it's just as good as...um, the other way."

"The other way?" Eliot prompted.

" _Anal_ , jesus christ."

"Just checking." He sounded smug.

"God, you're a dick."

"Mmmm." Eliot nuzzled into his hair. "But I'm trying to give you _my_ dick, so it all evens out, right?"

"We're never gonna get around to that if you don't stop fucking distracting me."

"Have you considered being less fun to distract?"

Quentin shook his head. " _Anyway_ , um, physically it's also not really like a cis woman's. It doesn't really self-lubricate anymore, like, I can get a little bit but not enough to do anything with, it needs lube. It's also kind of delicate so you can't really go as hard with it, but um, there's meds I can take to help that if we're doing it regularly enough to be worth it, I did it once before and it was fine. Basically there's this estrogen cream I can get and apply directly to the area and that helps it get wet and be, like, flexible and whatever, because estrogen is what maintains the structures and stuff? And it doesn't interfere with HRT at all when it's local, but that's, like, a few things have to line up for that to be on the table."

"Okay. So you mentioned anal."

"Yes," Quentin said. "That's probably, like, my default with guys? It's not dysphoric at all and doesn't really require as much production as topping does."

"So you do also top?" Eliot asked.

Quentin nodded. "I have a harness and a variety of, you know, options. Most of them on the realistic-looking side, but like, when someone gives you a rainbow dildo for Pride you have to _use it_ , right?"

"Naturally," Eliot said easily. Quentin could hear his grin again, and wanted to swim in it. "Let's put you topping on the 'we'll see' table, along with the front hole sex and the taking your binder off. I'm like...ninety percent of the time not interested, but every once in awhile, you know, Daddy gets a craving."

Quentin snorted at that, but it was good and encouraging that Eliot was setting his own boundaries, imposing his own conditions. It made Quentin feel like his were more likely to be respected in turn. "So buttfucking only for now," Quentin said.

"Okay, well, not when you say it like a third grader."

Quentin laughed at that. "You wanna fuck my butt so bad."

Eliot heaved a dramatic sigh. "I do have to say it sounds like pretty hot foreplay to pick out a dick I want to be fucked with."

That made Quentin grin, taking note of the fact that Eliot was still thinking about it after the conversation had moved on. Quentin was pretty sure that he was definitely going to be topping at least once in the near future. "I'll make sure they're lined up in order when we do it."

"So. Oral?"

"I really like giving head," Quentin said easily. "Like...a lot. Like a _lot_."

"Is that so?" Quentin could feel Eliot's heartbeat against his back, so he could feel when it picked up, and suddenly his was doing the same, as he fought the urge to get on his knees right in front of this couch. 

"Yeah," he said, voice sounding a little raspy, and cleared his throat. "I, uh, you getting your face down there is on the we'll see table. I probably won't want you to really touch it, either. I mean, the...front. My..." Quentin grimaced a little, spike of arousal forgotten. "Honestly a lot of guys call it...well, um, do you know what...testosterone does to...um, a person's..."

"Front hole?" Eliot asked, confused.

"No," Quentin said. "Further forward than that."

"Oh! Your cl-" He stopped himself. "I don't know the right word."

"Yeah, uh, neither do I," Quentin said with a bitter little laugh. "But you know what T does."

"Yes, actually, that's like, one of the two things I do know. It makes it grow into a small phallus."

Quentin nodded. "A lot of guys call it their dick, that's never really...worked for me? But I don't like the female, or, I guess, the anatomical word either. So, I don't know. It feels good, I'll probably touch it, but letting someone else touch it makes me _think_ about it and that doesn't really feel good. And it sucks because not even having a word I'm okay with makes it hard to talk about."

"That makes sense, yeah. For whatever it's worth, I'm sorry you're struggling with that."

Quentin sighed, feeling his eyes sting, and nodded. "Thanks," he said quietly. He didn't know how to cope with how much that kind of sympathy stung, how unused to it he was. "And, uh, sorry for killing the boner you were definitely working on vis-a-vis my mouth."

"Jesus, there's so much to unpack in that sentence I don't even know where to start." Quentin grinned, finding himself very funny and no longer about to cry over dumb shit. "Have you thought about a totally unrelated word?" Eliot asked. "Like a word no one uses for clits _or_ dicks, just as like a euphemism so you're not talking around it? Until you find a word that does make sense to you?"

"That..." Quentin blinked. "Wow. That's a really good idea. That actually hadn't occurred to me?"

"I'm glad I could help," Eliot said, warm and happy. "I feel like there's some really strong possibilities in the vegetable category."

Quentin laughed. "Corn cob."

"Cauliflower."

"Brussels sprout."

That one made Eliot laugh, and he shifted, leaning down to murmur close to Quentin's ear. "I bet it's a lot sweeter than that, though," he said, and drew his teeth over Quentin's earlobe.

Suddenly, Quentin's entire body was awake, not just awake, on _fire_ , there was suddenly this aching heat between his legs and he would have given an eye to feel Eliot's mouth on him, sucking him, _god, fuck, Jesus_.

He took a careful breath. They were not there yet. He'd gotten too excited before, and he always felt like shit after, sometimes for days or weeks. Another deep breath. Eliot obviously wanted to get there with him, no matter what he said about promises he wanted this for the long haul, it was obvious. If they could manage that, Quentin would probably come to a point of being comfortable getting head. Just not now.

Eliot gave him another squeeze, seeming to understand that some kind of struggle was happening. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah." Quentin took another deep breath, then cleared his throat. "That was--um. Don't take that as. Uh. Negative. I just. Um." Another deep breath, as a stalling tactic while he put a sentence together. "I really want that, but I know I'm not ready right now. So, um. Don't take it as like. Not wanting it. Cause."

Eliot just kissed his head. "I look forward to you feeling ready."

" _Same_ , holy shit."

Eliot chuckled softly. "God, I wish the eggplant emoji wasn't already a dick, because the egg pun is _perfect_."

"Honestly I'm kind of loving Brussels sprout. It's just so ridiculous. Sprout, if you want to shorten it."

Eliot hummed. "Your sprout. Seems perfect."

Silently, Quentin considered that it also fit his preference for describing what things were, like with 'egg pocket.' Julia had suggested 'man pocket,' but Quentin didn't feel like it was very manly, so 'egg pocket' had been his counter, since it was a truer description. Likewise, the organ in question had _sprouted_ from his body, the clit he was born with was the seed and this had grown from that, like a sprout.

"It is," Quentin agreed, voice gone soft. "My sprout."

Eliot gave him a squeeze, and Quentin felt like he was going to float away on a cloud. "Um, so," he said, trying not to giggle. "We covered chest, the front, the back, and mouth stuff. I think that's at least like, the basic anatomical rundown. Anything else you need to ask about?"

"A couple of things, yes," Eliot said, dragging his fingers lightly up Quentin's arm and making him shiver. "The simpler one is that I tend to use words like pretty and sweet during sex, things that are a little more traditionally femme. Will that bother you?"

"No," Quentin said, shaking his head. "I mean, as long as you're not outright calling me a girl, I don't mind, I'm fine with being a pretty boy or whatever."

"Okay, good. Here's the other thing: how do you feel about kink?"

"Um..." Quentin considered the question. "I guess sort of curious, but I haven't done it or like, investigated a lot? I guess I know, like, the basics. Traded spankings a couple of times."

"But you _are_ interested in more?"

"Maybe, yeah. I'm at least interested in, like, talking about it. Is that, like, a dealbreaker if I'm not?" He was getting the clear sense that Eliot was more experienced in it than he was.

"Not...a _dealbreaker_ , no," Eliot said, a little haltingly. "It's...hard to explain. I mean, obviously most one-night stand stuff is pretty vanilla by its nature. I am obviously capable of not being kinky. Well, no. I am capable of not having kinky sex," he restated. "I'm not capable of not wanting it."

Quentin nodded. "Okay. That makes sense. Well, maybe it'll turn out that I really like it." _You're making me hope I really like it._ "What kind of kinky stuff do you like to do?"

"God, you make it sound like crafting. I like to tie people up. I like controlling when they get to come. I like putting blindfolds or gags on them. I like making them perform for me." Eliot sighed, resting his head against Quentin's. "In general I like to make people feel...do you know what subspace is?"

Quentin thought about it. "I mean, I've heard the term before?"

"Subspace is different for everyone, but the common thread is that it's a kind of altered mental state. Most people who can get into it find it pleasant. It's often described as just turning your brain off. For some people that looks like suggestibility, willingness to do whatever your partner says. For some people they get giggly or high or silly. Some people just get really, really quiet and blank, like they're just a puppet to be moved around."

For a second, Quentin was just quiet. "I mean. Turning my brain off is really, really appealing."

He felt Eliot exhale. "Good," he said. "Then we can explore that when you're ready."

Quentin nodded. "Maybe, if you want to like...like, we can start off with some light stuff? Like if you want to smack my ass a couple times or hold me down or call me a name or something, like, that's fine, that can just be a normal part of what we do. Does that make sense?"

"Yes." Eliot dragged his fingers down Quentin's arm again. "I won't police myself too hard, then, and of course, if I do anything you don't like you can tell me. I make it a policy not to do any serious play if either of us has had more than one drink, so that shouldn't be a concern. And by drink I mean literal recommended serving of alcohol," he added. "If it's something with like, five shots in it, that's five drinks."

Quentin nodded firmly. "So no getting drunk to deal with nervousness. Got it."

"No," Eliot agreed. "And we have to be completely sober for negotiations, or if a scene is going to involve pain play."

Hmm, pain play. A scenario floated into Quentin's head as if borne in on a cloud. "What if I wanted you to like, pretend to be a vampire and bite my neck a bunch? Is that kink?"

He could hear Eliot's grin again. "Well, it _is_ Halloween, so, thematically appropriate. But yes, roleplay is a kink, and I could absolutely get into that. Is that something you want to try, baby boy?"

The term of endearment made Quentin blush. "I think so, yeah."

Eliot held him closer as he leaned in, dragging his nose up the side of Quentin's neck. Quentin couldn't help arching into it, tilting his head to expose that stretch of skin better. "You want my teeth all over your neck, baby?" Eliot murmured, soft and coaxing and a little teasing. "You want me to mark this pretty neck up, make sure everyone knows what you've been doing?"

Quentin shivered, and nodded desperately. "Yes, please, I want, I want that," he gasped out, hot between the legs again.

Eliot's hand slid across his hip, but hesitated. "Can I do something over your jeans?" he asked, tone still soft, but more like himself. "And you stop me if it's not good?"

He gulped, but nodded. "Okay."

That hand slid down over his hip and right into his crotch, like, Jesus, like he _owned_ it, like his hand just _belonged_ there, and Quentin noted that he wasn't hesitant at all, that he didn't seem at all put off by the fact that he wasn't squeezing a cock because oh fuck he was _squeezing_ , putting pressure on the whole area and then rubbing up and down, it made Quentin want to spread his legs and offer anything Eliot wanted. 

There _was_ a problem, though -- Eliot either didn't have a really strong grasp of where the sprout was, or he wasn't thinking about it, because he was kind of making it flip and roll around in a way that was uncomfortable. Quentin stopped that hand and moved it to his thigh, then replaced it with his own, angling so he was getting the same friction, but being gentler on the sprout area.

"Oh fuck," Eliot growled, voice low and rumbly. "That's it, pretty boy, touch yourself for me," he encouraged, biting Quentin's earlobe again and making him whimper. "Does that feel good, baby? You just can't wait to let Daddy bite you, can-"

Eliot stopped himself, and let out a slightly hysterical laugh. Quentin couldn't help laughing too. "It's okay," he breathed. "I'm not, um, promising I'll say it back but you can call yourself that if it, if it turns you on, _god_ ," he breathed, shifting to push his hips up, spread his legs more. He probably wasn't going to get himself off this way, but it felt so good to make _something_ happen after how many times he'd gotten turned on and had to reel it back during this conversation.

"I can't wait to make a fucking mess of you," Eliot growled again. He shifted, picking Quentin physically up, and Quentin suspected the aid of telekinesis as Eliot moved so his legs were on either side of Quentin's, so Quentin could feel Eliot's dick pressing into his lower back. It made for better contact between their bodies, and Quentin pressed back into it, reveling in the warmth and safety.

"Your cock feels fucking massive," Quentin breathed, sliding down a little. The new position also gave him a better range of movement. "Seriously, what the fuck do you have in there? What were your parents _feeding_ you?"

The chuckle this time was dark and pleased. "Trust me, baby boy, it is. Does that turn you on?" he asked, grinding up into Quentin's back a little. "Are you gonna be my little size queen, baby Q?"

Quentin nodded against his shoulder, already thinking about Eliot sliding inside him, that massive cock moving in his ass, splitting him open on it, making him ache with the fullness. His hole clenched involuntarily, thinking about how bad he wanted it. 

"I want to watch you make yourself come for me," Eliot breathed in his ear. "Can you do that, is that okay? Then I wanna take you upstairs and let you show me how much you love using that pretty mouth." 

Normally Quentin probably wouldn't, he'd insist on moving first, so there was no chance of someone walking in. But he was so fucking turned on that taking his hand off himself sounded like the worst thing possible, so he bit his lip and started undoing his pants with the other hand, feeling more than hearing the hitch in Eliot's breath. He got his fingertips under the waistband of his boxers, then paused and turned.

Eliot was looking down at him where Quentin laid on his chest, mouth open and eyes bright with want. His eyes met Quentin's, and he leaned in for a hard, filthy kiss before Quentin could say anything, as if he couldn't even help himself. He pulled back and ran a hand through Quentin's hair. "You feel so good on top of me, baby boy," he breathed.

Quentin swallowed, kind of blown away just by how fucking hot Eliot was, and how Eliot wanted _him_. It would seem impossible if Eliot wasn't right here, telling him to touch himself and talking about how good he felt. Quentin lifted his hand, putting his middle and ring finger near Eliot's lips, offering them. He looked confused only for the briefest moment, then grinned down at Quentin and swallowed them. He definitely had some goddamn mouth skills, too, his tongue running between and around the fingers, making Quentin whimper aloud. He let Eliot get them wet for as long as possible, as long as he could stand it, then withdrew his hand and pushed it into his boxers again, closing his eyes.

The moan he let out as he found the sprout and rubbed it between the wet fingers was echoed by Eliot, Quentin could feel the vibration in his chest. That was _Eliot_ slicking the way for him, _Eliot's_ mouth letting his fingers slide and rub, and it made Quentin shiver, half-aware that his legs were splayed open wide and slutty now.

"You look so fucking good, baby, oh my god, I can't wait to fuck you," Eliot growled in his ear, making Quentin's hips buck up against his hand. "I'm gonna sit you up on my lap just like this, make you ride my cock and touch yourself until you come all over it, I'm gonna fill up that gorgeous ass so good."

"E-Eliot," Quentin moaned, free hand flailing for something to hold onto until Eliot caught it and held it across his chest, grip like iron. It was grounding, stabilizing.

"You sound so good moaning my name, baby boy, I just want to tie you up in my bed and make sure you can't say anything else for a fucking _year_ , I want to make you forget your own name."

" _Eliot_ ," Quentin whined again, hips starting to twitch up as he rubbed himself desperately, too needy to bother with his holes, just trying to make himself come as fast as possible.

"Gonna come for me, pretty boy?" Eliot's hands moved, grabbing Quentin around his thighs and god his fucking _hands_ were huge too, so strong it was nothing to hitch Quentin up against his chest and pull his legs open wider, exposing him, forcing Quentin to rub harder with the tension of his jeans across the back of his hand. "That's it, baby Q, rub your, fuck, your sprout for me until you come, come thinking about Daddy's big fat cock inside you, come for me, come on."

It was so goddamn filthy and that pushed Quentin over just as much as his own hand, crying out as his hips bucked, fucking the sprout up between his fingers as he rode it out. Slowly, he relaxed onto Eliot's chest with a desperate moan.

"That's a fucking good boy," Eliot whispered, breathless and exhilarated. "Do you feel good?" Quentin nodded dizzily. "Good. Good boy. You're so fucking good, Quentin, oh my god, you're gonna be so goddamn good for me."

Moving sluggishly, Quentin withdrew his hand from his boxers and let it flop onto his hip, panting. "Tell me when you think you can walk, baby boy," Eliot whispered to him, kissing his head. "And I'll take you upstairs."

Quentin nodded and twisted around again, lifting his chin up toward Eliot. Eliot got the idea and kissed him, hard and filthy again, enough to make Quentin shudder. It was a little overwhelming, he couldn't do anything but passively take it, mouth open for Eliot's tongue and his own giving only intermittent responses.

After a minute or two of this, Quentin could feel his knees again, and he nudged Eliot back. The delay didn't seem to have dampened his desire at all, and as Quentin got up, he caught the look Eliot was giving him, hot and predatory, like he was going to eat Quentin alive. He felt his breath hitch in his chest and made quickly for the stairs, not trusting himself not to just jump right back into Eliot's lap if he didn't move _right fucking now_.

His bag forgotten at the bottom of the stairs, he hustled upward, ignoring his own room to head straight for Eliot's. He could hear Eliot hot on his heels and didn't dare look back at him. Quentin's heart was pounding in his chest with arousal again by the time he made it through the door, waiting for Eliot to shut it behind them and then grabbing and steering him to the bed, pushing him to sit down on it.

" _Bossy_ ," Eliot accused, but he let out that exhilarated giggle again as Quentin dropped to his knees and went for Eliot's fly. Leaning back on his hands to give Quentin room, Eliot grinned down at him, dopey and thrilled.

"Holy shit," Quentin breathed as he pulled it out, taking a second just to look. Stare, really. 

"My finest accomplishment," Eliot said, which made Quentin kind of choke on a laugh. He'd been right, it was huge, and uncut, the head peeking out of the foreskin at the top. Quentin gave it a few strokes, watching the head emerge fully and then be sheathed again. There was no fucking way he could take this all the way down his throat, but he desperately, desperately wanted to manage it one day.

"Come on, baby boy," Eliot said, sliding a hand into his hair. "It's not nice to make Daddy wait."

Quentin licked his lips, then secured his hand around the bottom and leaned forward, dragging his tongue from his fingers up to the head. Eliot moaned above him, and Quentin wrapped his lips around it, sucking gently like it was a piece of candy.

This was definitely going to make his jaw ache if it took too long, but it would be so deeply fucking worth it. He took it as deep as he could, testing, got the head nudging at the back of his throat, then pulled back and started working the rest with his hand, fist firm but not too tight, establishing the pace he intended to keep with his mouth.

"God, you do love sucking cock, don't you?" Eliot breathed, tugging on his hair and making Quentin whimper. "No one goes for it like that who doesn't love it, that's it, baby. What a pretty boy, pretty mouth slut."

Quentin was definitely getting the sense that Eliot never shut up during sex, and he didn't hate it. It would be a fun game someday to see if he could render Eliot speechless, but the constant stream of filth turned him on and made him feel wanted. There was no chance for Quentin to believe that he didn't matter, that he didn't have a place here or was just another place to put it, because he was talking to _Quentin_ , saying things specific to him. These words, this attention, were his and his alone.

Eliot made a guttural sound, hips twitching up into Quentin's mouth, and Quentin's breath caught again, sucking harder to encourage the motion.

"Oh, you like that, baby boy?" Eliot asked, breathless. "Want me to fuck your face? Hold still and I will, I'll make it so good, pretty boy."

Quentin kept his hand on it, blocking Eliot from thrusting too deep, but he stilled as instructed. Eliot took a firmer grip on his hair and braced his other hand on the bed to start thrusting, his cock sliding just deep enough to feel good, to make Quentin want to touch himself again. He didn't want to take focus off what he was doing, though, didn't want to think about anything except using his mouth well.

"God, yes, fuck, you're so good...such a good...god, _Quentin_..." Eliot gasped, and his hips jerked, and then he was coming with a groan, hips rolling up hard into Quentin's mouth, making him shiver with desire. He swallowed until Eliot settled back to the bed, pulling him off with that grip in his hair.

Quentin couldn't deal, he spat on his own fingers and shoved his hand down his pants again. "Oh, fuck," Eliot breathed, seeing what he was doing, and guided Quentin's head to rest on his knee. "That's it, baby boy, touch yourself for me, that's right, make yourself come, on your knees for me like a good boy," he whispered, and it didn't take Quentin long at all. He came muffling a shout against Eliot's thigh, shuddering through it and then going slack again.

"Mmm, that sounded like it felt so good, didn't it baby? Come on, come up here." Eliot was kicking his shoes off, so Quentin did the same and let himself be guided up onto the bed. Eliot laid back against the pillows, leading Quentin to rest on his chest where he could pant it out, safe and held.

~

Quentin didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke a little while later, lifting his head to squint up at Eliot.

Eliot gave him a sleepy smile and brushed some of his hair back. "Hi, baby."

"Dunno 'bout that," Quentin mumbled, and buried his face in Eliot's chest. Eliot laughed happily and bent to kiss the top of his head.

"You can sleep some more if you want to, baby, that's okay. Daddy's right here."

"Thanks dad," Quentin said, muffled, and Eliot laughed again, this time the offended-but-still-hilarious laugh Quentin was familiar with. Despite his desire to sleep, he smiled.

"I was gonna ask if you're okay, but if you're snarking at me I'll assume you're basically functional," Eliot said. "That did get a little intense though, so I'll ask, just in case: how are you feeling? Okay?"

"I think so," Quentin said, turning his head so his cheek rested on Eliot's chest instead. "I mean, yeah, we got super fucking horny, but we didn't do anything that crazy."

"That's good. So the things I called you were okay?" he asked, tone soft, running his fingers through Quentin's hair. "Good boy, pretty boy, slut?"

Quentin nodded. "That feels nice," he said, eyes fluttering shut. "But yeah, all those were fine. They turned me on. It, um." He could feel himself blushing. "It really turned me on when you talked about...um, me being on my knees, like a..."

"Like a good boy?" Quentin could hear the grin. "Noted and underlined." Eliot gave his hair a couple of little tugs until Quentin looked up at him. "I was thinking I'd make dinner," Eliot said, returning to that soft, gentle tone. "Since it seems like we've got the cottage to ourselves for a while. And then maybe we can come back up here, and see about..."

Quentin didn't notice the hand sliding down his back until it slid over his ass, giving him a squeeze. Quentin inhaled, and nodded dumbly. "Um." He nodded a second time.

Eliot grinned, and leaned down to kiss him, brief and chaste. "Good. Do you want some time after dinner, to get ready for me?"

Quentin just nodded, glad that at least one of them had some blood going to the brain.

"Okay, so let's plan to have you here half an hour after we leave the table. And I would love it," Eliot added, bringing a hand up to Quentin's chin. "If you didn't touch yourself in that time, except as necessary. And not before dinner, either. I want to know that the next hand making you feel good is mine." He thumbed at Quentin's lower lip. "Can you do that for me, baby boy?"

Quentin's mouth opened to that thumb automatically, and he went down on it. He nodded, then closed his eyes and sucked, bobbing his head a little and pushing his tongue against the surface. Eliot's thumb had a sharp, acrid taste, probably from cigarettes, but Quentin didn't mind it.

"Mmm, you're so good," Eliot murmured, watching him for a minute before slowly taking the thumb away. He leaned down for another kiss. "Call you when dinner's ready?"

Quentin nodded and made himself get up, before he did anything else obviously slutty. Eliot gave him one last kiss at the bottom of the stairs from his room, then headed for the back stairs that went to the kitchen while Quentin went towards the front, to retrieve his bag.

He wished cell phones worked on the Brakebills campus, or that he had the faintest idea where Julia was. He wanted to text her so badly. _We made up, and also I sucked his dick and jerked off for him twice, and it was amazing._ He could tell her soon enough, he just hoped that the cottage would _actually_ stay empty long enough for whatever Eliot was planning.

Quentin made a futile attempt at studying, then gave up and jumped in the shower. It was going to leave him with more time than he needed in that half hour after dinner, but he was too fucking antsy, he needed to be doing something and at least showering didn't take a lot of brain power.

There was a decent possibility he was going to fall asleep in it, so Quentin picked the comfortable binder again. He could at least unhook it and get some relief if he needed to. If this really did end up lasting, he'd probably come to be okay with not wearing a binder to bed, as long as he could trust Eliot not to touch his breasts like they were breasts. There was a difference between the way people touched a chest they thought of as male and one they thought of as female, even if they weren't going directly for the breasts. 

That wasn't _really_ a word Quentin liked either, but they were so entirely nonsexual to him that as long as they weren't, like, _perceived_ by anyone else it was fine, they were just...there. Not really an acknowledged part of him, but not malignant either. It helped that he'd had hormones early, while he was still growing a bit, so his shoulders were broad and square and his _development_ was limited. He was fortunate to have his choice of most binders on the market, rather than having to hunt for the highest-compression options.

He'd been fortunate in a lot of ways. Was still being fortunate, in that the guy he'd had a pathetic crush on for months now was apparently just as into him, and was being as good as he possibly could be about not knowing what to do with a vagina.

 _Don't get attached,_ said a voice in his head. _Stop thinking about when you get comfortable with him, he's leaving. He said he can't keep his promises. You know he can't, you've seen it. You're just another fling, he doesn't like you the same way you like him. Who ever could?_

That wasn't true, though, was it? For once in his miserable life, Quentin had enough evidence to counteract the shitty voices in his head. He'd never really seen Eliot care about...anything, let alone with the kind of intensity he'd had for their conversation. Quentin hadn't imagined that, he was sure of it. There was no way he was just another boy Friday.

 _Fuck off,_ he told the voice in his head firmly. _If our heart gets broken then fine. We've been heartbroken before. But I'm not letting you kill this before it's even off the ground._

The pushback seemed to have startled Depression Quentin into submission, and he found himself standing a little taller.

Quentin was just doing the last few hooks up when a light knock came on his door. "Dinner," Eliot called through it.

"Okay," Quentin called back. "Be there in a sec."

He heard Eliot's footsteps retreating and did a spell that squeezed all the remaining water out of his hair. It was really bad for your hair so you weren't supposed to be doing it often, but this counted as a special occasion, not looking like a drowned rat for his...date? Date. Yes, date. He considered putting it back out of his face, then remembered how much Eliot seemed to like touching it.

A couple of minutes later he arrived in the kitchen. Eliot had made them pasta with chicken chopped into it, and a sauce that smelled lemony and buttery. Simple, easy comfort food, something to fill up on without making them feel too gross and stuffed. 

Quentin was considering a joke about carb loading when Eliot wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed his head, smiling. "You smell nice."

Any thought of jokes, or anything else he might have been about to say before, was gone. "Um. Thanks. The food looks amazing."

Eliot served him a bowl with some garlic bread perched on the edge, then sat at the kitchen table with his own. Quentin sat too, picking up his bread first and tearing off a crust. It was stiff and crunchy, the bread inside soft and fragrant, the perfect texture ratio. Surely there had to be some kind of food magic Eliot knew, right?

"Remind me what classes you're taking?" Eliot asked.

"Um." Quentin swallowed. "Mostly basic first semester stuff, is the idea I get."

He listed off the professors he had, and Eliot chatted happily at him about the teachers Quentin had that he'd had before. It was...nice. The last vestiges of Quentin's nervousness about having broken things permanently faded away, as the sun went down outside and they talked and laughed over pasta. Even if he _did_ end up abandoning Quentin after a week, even if this was doomed to fail, they were still friends, good friends, brothers (that was weird) and still would be.

Quentin was careful not to let himself eat too much, not wanting to be distracted by feeling stuffed while he was trying to get, well, _stuffed_. He watched as Eliot's eyes flicked down to his bowl, then back up to his face, then smirked.

"Done, baby boy?"

Quentin felt his blush rising again at the pet name, and nodded. "Yeah, um, I think so. It was amazing," he added.

"Good." Eliot rose from his seat and swept around the table, taking Quentin's hand as he stood up to meet him. The free hand was threaded into his hair, and Eliot kissed him, making Quentin let out a soft sound against his mouth. He tasted of the lemon-butter sauce on the pasta, and of the white wine he'd poured them both with it. Quentin had noted that Eliot did not refill his own glass, even after it was empty.

Eliot thumbed his lip again after pulling away, and it took willpower for Quentin not to do the same thing he'd done before. "So I guess it's time for you to go get ready for me, huh? I know you're excited, but remember, no touching. Got it?"

Quentin nodded.

"Say 'yes, sir,'" Eliot prompted.

 _Oh._ Fuck. Quentin looked up and could see the question in Eliot's eyes, checking on him, reading his face, silently asking if this was okay. There was...Quentin was going to have to take some time to unpack, later, all the fucking things about this that were working for him because they were _many_ and he was pretty sure that the sprout had grown about three sizes from sheer _want_.

"Yes, sir," he breathed, and the proud grin that spread across Eliot's face was like the sun coming out.

"Good boy," he praised, and kissed him once more, then turned him by the shoulders and sent him off with a gentle little push.

~

Frankly, the half hour passed in a complete blur. He had a vague memory of using the bathroom and staring blankly at a book, but his mind was not there. Nothing really mattered until Quentin was at Eliot's door and knocking, trying not to dance from foot to foot with anticipation.

"Come in," Eliot called, and Quentin did. Eliot had cleaned up a little, shaved off his five o'clock shadow and picked up around the room a bit. He was lounging on the bed, but he sat up on the edge facing Quentin and reached out to take his hands.

"I do have one more question," Eliot said. "If you're planning to get naked -- aside from the binder, I know -- can that happen in the sexy, mid-makeout stripping way? Or is it better if we just get your clothes off before we start, so there's nothing it can interrupt?"

Without being told, Eliot had intuited that exposing his body might be a hard moment for Quentin, and he was taking it as another opportunity to ask a question and make Quentin feel safe. He felt his heart swell a little with it.

"Um, it's better if we do it, like, separate," Quentin said. "Just cause like..." He trailed off awkwardly.

"You don't have to tell me the reason if you don't want," Eliot said patiently. "But I'd like to know, if you do want to tell me."

Quentin nodded a little. "Um, if you make like...a face, or anything, not like a grossout face but like a surprised face or anything, I can handle that when I'm just like, calm? But if we were in the middle of it that would probably be a mood killer. So."

Eliot nodded. "Okay, that makes sense. Can I help you, then?"

"Um, yeah." Quentin nodded again. "That'd be okay I guess."

Eliot smiled fondly and leaned up to kiss him, then gently turned him, until he could take off the flannel that Quentin had thrown on, mostly for an extra layer of emotional armor. He tossed it over the foot of the bed, then turned Quentin to face him again, guiding him a half-step closer so he was between Eliot's knees now.

"Ready?" he asked softly, grasping the hem of Quentin's t-shirt. He nodded and lifted his arms. There was the slightest edge of panic when he felt the edge of the fabric come up past the binder, a cold thread through his heart, but he put his arms back down as Eliot set the t-shirt aside and it was fine. Eliot looked over the binder -- a nude-toned affair that didn't match Quentin's skin very well, made for someone fairer than him -- then up at Quentin's face again, his expression neutral. Quentin raised his eyebrows and pulled his mouth awkwardly to the side, and Eliot grinned.

Quentin started undoing his own jeans, but he let Eliot take hold of the waistband and tug them down his legs. With a hand on his shoulder for balance, Quentin stepped out and pushed them aside so Eliot could pick them up and put them with the shirts. Then he took hold of the legs of Quentin's Batman boxers and looked up at him, the question silent this time. At Q's nod, he tugged those down too.

Quentin exhaled slowly as he stepped out of these, feeling the familiar fear-meets-thrill of being naked in front of someone for the first time. When and if he someday took off the binder, it would just be like the relief of an annoyance, this was the big reveal. 

Eliot looked him over slowly, from toes up to his face again, then back down. Quentin was starting to feel awkward about it when Eliot stood up, bringing them nearly pressed together, and cupped Quentin's jaw with both of his hands.

"I don't know if you can really hear this right now," he said softly. "But I think you're fucking beautiful, Q. And I want to fight anyone who's ever made you feel differently, including the fucked up parts of your own beautiful, broken brain."

Quentin swallowed hard, feeling like he was going to cry. But he was spared from answering by Eliot's lips coming down on his, kissing him gently at first, then harder, hungrier, waking up his desire. The hottest guy on campus was standing here, kissing Quentin, wanting to _fuck him_ and Quentin silently hoped that if this was some kind of computer simulation or dream, he never woke up from it. 

He started pulling at Eliot's vest, the same brown one he'd had when Quentin got home. Being naked was cool and all, but what would be much better was Eliot also being naked, so they could actually get around to this fucking thing. Eliot giggled a little against his mouth, pulling back with a grin so he could strip the vest off. He looked down at Quentin as he did, tall and gorgeous, and totally unbidden Quentin thought that he was maybe getting the appeal of the kink thing.

With the vest off, Quentin went after Eliot's buttons. He wasn't wearing a tie -- seriously, this was positively pajamas for him -- so he didn't have to worry about that, but either the buttons were stiff or he was too excited or his fingers weren't working, because he was having a bitch of a time fumbling at them.

"Relax, baby boy," Eliot said, grinning down at him. "Show a little patience. You'll get my cock whether this takes half a minute or two, I promise."

Quentin just looked up at him and yanked, popping the rest of the buttons off. The look in his eyes was a dare, a challenge, a _what are you gonna do about it_ even as Eliot gasped softly.

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that, you little brat," he breathed, grin turning dangerous, and he seized Quentin by the shoulders and pushed him down onto the bed. Eliot's hands found his with unerring precision and shoved them up over his head, pinning his wrists firmly. One knee was planted between Quentin's thighs, so he rubbed up against it shamelessly as Eliot kissed him. He tugged at his wrists, testing the hold, but Eliot's grip on him was tight, there was no way to wiggle free unless Eliot let him. The tingle of arousal low in his belly spread between his legs, hot and eager. 

"God, what a little slut," Eliot breathed as he pulled away, looking down to see where Quentin was rubbing on him. "You can't help it, can you, humping Daddy's leg. Does that feel good, baby boy?"

Quentin exhaled sharply and nodded, closing his eyes to focus on it, getting the angle just right for friction where he needed it without the pressure becoming uncomfortable. He let out a needy sound, acutely aware of Eliot's eyes on him. It was kind of appealing to just rub like this until he came, let Eliot watch him get off a third time. Before he could seriously entertain it, though, Eliot moved, keeping Quentin's hands pinned but taking that thigh away, making Quentin grunt in frustration as his hips arched, chasing it.

"Not yet, baby boy," Eliot purred, kneeing Quentin's legs apart and laying between them. "Don't you want to come with Daddy's big cock inside you?"

Eliot ground his hips down like they were already fucking, making Quentin whine as his hips jerked, trying to rub himself again. He couldn't help it, he was too turned on.

"Hey," Eliot said, tone firmer, and he grabbed Quentin by the jaw, one hand still effortlessly pinning both of Quentin's and god, like, how was that even _allowed_. "Daddy asked you a question."

"Yes," Quentin breathed, nodding eagerly. "Yeah, I wanna come with, um, Daddy's cock inside me."

Okay, well, that was gonna take some heavy workshopping, but from the look on Eliot's face it seemed to have landed much better than it felt, and that softened the blow. "Good boy," Eliot growled, and kissed him roughly before pulling back, stripping his pants fast. Quentin took the time to rearrange himself properly on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows to watch that actually-ridiculous fairy tale dick be exposed again, already mostly hard as it flopped out. He did note that Eliot was too excited to set his pants aside nicely, just dropping them where he stood.

"How do you want me?" Eliot asked breathlessly, crawling up over him. "Like, positioning."

Quentin bit his lip and rolled over onto his side, so his back was facing Eliot, ass accessible. He looked back over his shoulder in time to catch Eliot looking at him like a spoiled kid looks at a Christmas present.

"God, your ass is fucking amazing, Q," he said, slotting in behind Quentin and giving his ass a hard squeeze that made him moan. "God, I want to...I want to rim you out, baby boy," he whispered, lips pressed against Quentin's ear. "Would that be okay? Daddy's tongue on your ass, baby? I won't go towards the front at all, I promise."

Quentin was nodding almost before Eliot finished the sentence, and he found himself pushed over onto his stomach so Eliot could slide down, thumbs pressing in to spread his cheeks apart. He was glad he'd showered and cleaned up, because the first touch of Eliot's tongue made him shudder and push back like he might die if Eliot stopped, knees braced on the bed and both hands gripping the pillow. Eliot hung on like he was a bucking bronco, prying his cheeks apart wider and burying his tongue, making Quentin shout loud enough to be grateful that they had the cottage to themselves.

He was a needy mess by the time Eliot stopped, absolutely aching to be full, and Eliot didn't waste any time, grabbing lube where he'd placed it on the night stand. Quentin could hear the cap opening and the slight wet sound as something was squeezed out, and then there were slick fingers on his hole, one pushing inside and quickly joined by a second.

"Oh, you know what you're doing, don't you, baby boy?" Eliot purred, working his fingers inside Quentin. There was no particular spot to reach for, but the whole area was still rich with nerve endings, ones that Quentin had well-trained to interpret touch as pleasure. "This hole definitely knows how to take a cock, you're opening up for me so well."

"Want you," Quentin moaned, trying not to shake with need. "Want your cock so bad, sir, your, your big cock..." 'Sir' was a lot easier than the D-word at this point, and he was rewarded with those powerful fingers driving harder into him, making Quentin muffle a cry in the pillow.

The third finger made him stretch, and Quentin felt like a useless mess of nerve endings. He was gonna come so fucking hard once Eliot was actually inside him. Panting, he reached down to touch himself, not the two-fingered way he used to get off fast, but rubbing his thumb up and down the length of the sprout.

"Oh fuck, yeah, touch yourself, baby boy, you look so good, so goddamn needy for me. Do you want Daddy to fuck your ass now, baby?" he asked. "Want this pretty hole filled with Daddy's thick cock, ready to get split open?"

Quentin nodded desperately, and Eliot pulled his fingers out, rolling Quentin up onto his side again and settling in behind him. His breath hitched as he felt hot, heavy flesh against the back of his thigh, then Eliot moved to line them up, the smooth, blunt head of him just nudging against Quentin's hole before he started to push. Quentin took his hand away from the sprout as he felt himself spreading open around it, wanting to focus just on the pleasure of being fucked. Another slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of Eliot, not like it was funny, but like he was just so full of energy that it had to come out of him somehow.

"God, you're so good, perfect boy," Eliot breathed. "Does that feel good, baby? You like Daddy's cock inside you?"

"You're inside me," Quentin moaned in response, too heated up to even know if he was being coherent. "Your, your, your cock is in..."

He could hear the grin as Eliot leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "Where's my cock, baby?"

"I-in, in my ass," Quentin moaned, hips pushing back desperately, trying to get him to move.

"Yeah? Is that my cock in your ass, baby?"

" _Yes,_ " Quentin moaned, and Eliot finally started moving, gripping Quentin's hip tightly to hold him in place and giving him long, even thrusts. Quentin felt like he was being pulled inside out, but then the thrust back in just made him go blind, eyes wide and unseeing as Eliot pushed so deep that something in his abdomen hurt. It wasn't nearly enough to care about.

"Touch me," Quentin moaned out. "Please, touch...I want your hand, please..."

"Yeah?" Eliot asked, pushing himself up on his elbow so he could look down at Quentin. "Are you sure, baby? You want me to?" He looked excited and awestruck, an openmouthed smile on his face, still thrusting slowly and making it hard to think.

Quentin nodded. "Here, put your fingers like..." Panting, Quentin grabbed Eliot's hand and arranged it, middle finger on one side of the sprout, ring finger on the other. "And just rub up and down."

Eliot took to the instruction like a duck to water, pinching a little and rubbing like he was told, making Quentin's legs twitch and ripping a moan out of his throat at the perfect friction and pressure. It felt like he was on fire, the pleasure so fucking good it was searing. Quentin made a desperate sound, turning his head to hide his face in the pillow.

"Gonna come for me, baby boy?" Eliot asked, breathless, and Quentin nodded. "Good boy," Eliot breathed out, fucking into him harder, making Quentin writhe in his arms. The stretch of his hole, the friction where he needed it most, it didn't take very long before he cried out, convulsing in Eliot's arms as his hips tried to shove back on his cock and forward into his hand at the same time.

Eliot kept rubbing until he went limp, then wrapped his arm across Quentin's chest again and the other around his waist. "Just hold still, baby, let Daddy finish," he breathed, and started thrusting hard. Quentin didn't even think he _could_ move, getting fucked like this, even if he'd wanted to. It only took Eliot maybe thirty seconds more before he was muffling a groan in Quentin's shoulder, hips pushing hard against his ass one last time. He stayed like that, tense and gripping him tight, before going slack just like Quentin had.

They both laid there long enough, panting and limp, that Quentin started vaguely wondering if maybe they were both dead. Maybe the orgasms were too good, and they'd both stroked out, and they were dead now and they just hadn't noticed yet. But then Eliot stirred behind him, groaning as he pulled his soft cock out, and the movement hurt enough that no, actually, Quentin was definitely, terribly alive.

He flopped over onto his stomach, giving Eliot room to free his arms and get up. It occurred to him that one of those arms had been under him for only part of the time, because it did other things before, and Quentin reflected that he didn't even remember lifting up to permit it, but he must have. Honestly it was kind of amazing that Quentin still knew his name, after getting fucked like that.

Eliot kissed his shoulder casually before levering his long body up off the bed and heading into his small bathroom. Quentin sighed and rolled up onto his side again, so he could reach over and undo the hooks on his binder. Between his size and the basic level of compression it offered without the hooks done, he didn't exactly, like, sprout tits, but it definitely looked like he had more pectorals than anyone was used to seeing on him.

Quentin could hear water running, and Eliot returned a moment later with a washcloth. He nudged Quentin onto his stomach again, then gently cleaned him up, wiping up any mess and then kissing his shoulder again before pitching the cloth toward his hamper and flopping over onto his back, hard enough to make the bed bounce a little. Quentin giggled, still a little high on hormones.

Eliot chuckled too and ran a hand down his back. "Wanna get in the bed, baby boy?"

"Ughhh, hang on. Like. Two minutes." Quentin was under strict instructions to pee after sex, even if just a little, even if nothing went in the front hole. Groaning, he forced himself up and staggered a little to the bathroom, remembering to close the door and sighing as he sat. Along with all the other maintenance issues, the stupid thing was susceptible to infections and UTIs, another great injustice of Quentin's life.

When he came back, Eliot had pulled the covers down, so Quentin could crawl in and collapse on his chest. Eliot laughed and kissed the top of his head, pulling the covers up over them both.

"Feel good, baby boy?"

Quentin nodded against his shoulder.

"Perfect."

~

In the morning, Quentin woke first, so he retrieved his boxers and jeans and took them into the bathroom to get dressed. There was no way they were going to keep this a secret for very long, everyone was going to find out, just...not yet. He didn't need to be seen visibly walk-of-shaming from Eliot's room, so he'd at least basically put himself together before leaving, and then he could just say he'd been returning a book he borrowed or something.

He was fighting in the mirror with his stupid binder hooks -- one of his arms had been slept on weird so his hand didn't want to cooperate, with the pressure required to get the top few done, when Eliot appeared in the mirror behind him.

"Shit, sorry," he said, quickly ducking back behind the door, but then one eye peeked out. "Can I help with anything?"

"Um." Quentin swallowed. "Yeah, actually. I can't get the top few hooks."

Eliot came in and took the arm that was up, easily depositing Quentin's forearm up over his own shoulder, so he could see what he was doing well enough to get the top three hooks lined up with the ones below them and hooked in.

"Thanks," Quentin said, and leaned up for a brief kiss before turning to go back into the room, letting Eliot have the bathroom while he got his shirts back on.

When Eliot came out, Quentin was dressed, and on his knees, reaching under the bed. "What the fuck are you doing?" Eliot asked.

Quentin sat up with a relieved sigh, holding up a button that was glowing. "This." He deposited it in the pile with the rest of them, then laid the shirt they'd popped off of on the bed and did a series of tuts over them. The glowing buttons all lifted themselves up off the bed, swirled around into their proper places, then sealed themselves onto the shirt and went dull again.

Eliot smiled at the display and pulled Quentin in with an arm around his waist, still naked and glorious, his perfect curls sticking up like he was wearing a crown. "Breakfast?"

**Author's Note:**

> Eliot gets extremely high at the Halloween party, and Quentin is moderately high too. Eliot kisses Quentin in his room, and Quentin enjoys it, but then Eliot starts pulling at Quentin's binder. Quentin tells him to stop, which Eliot doesn't immediately, so Quentin panics and shoves him off, knocking him to the floor. Eliot is okay, but Quentin apologizes for shoving him, and Eliot apologizes for not listening. If you want to skip it, stop reading at "Eliot pulled away from the kiss with a giggle" and pick up at "Quentin was kissing him again."


End file.
